And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these? MESSENGER. The maiden princess lieth--and her sire, The king--both murdered by thy poison-fire. MEDEA. Most happy tiding! Which thy name prefers Henceforth among my friends and well-wishers. MESSENGER. What say'st thou? Woman, is thy mind within Clear, and not raving? Thou art found in sin Most bloody wrought against the king's high head, And laughest at the tale, and hast no dread? MEDEA. I have words also that could answer well Thy word. But take thine ease, good friend, and tell, How died they? Hath it been a very foul Death, prithee? That were comfort to my soul. MESSENGER. When thy two children, hand in hand entwined, Came with their father, and passed on to find The new-made bridal rooms, Oh, we were glad, We thralls, who ever loved thee well, and had Grief in thy grief. And straight there passed a word From ear to ear, that thou and thy false lord Had poured peace offering upon wrath foregone. A right glad welcome gave we them, and one Kissed the small hand, and one the shining hair: Myself, for very joy, I followed where The women's rooms are. There our mistress . . . she Whom now we name so . . . thinking not to see Thy little pair, with glad and eager brow Sate waiting Jason. Then she saw, and slow Shrouded her eyes, and backward turned again, Sick that thy children should come near her. Then Thy husband quick went forward, to entreat The young maid's fitful wrath. "Thou will not meet Love's coming with unkindness? Nay, refrain Thy suddenness, and turn thy face again, Holding as friends all that to me are dear, Thine husband. And accept these robes they bear As gifts: and beg thy father to unmake His doom of exile on them--for my sake." When once she saw the raiment, she could still Her joy no more, but gave him all his will. And almost ere the father and the two Children were gone from out the room, she drew The flowerèd garments forth, and sate her down To her arraying: bound the golden crown Through her long curls, and in a mirror fair Arranged their separate clusters, smiling there At the dead self that faced her. Then aside She pushed her seat, and paced those chambers wide Alone, her white foot poising delicately-- So passing joyful in those gifts was she!-- And many a time would pause, straight-limbed, and wheel Her head to watch the long fold to her heel Sweeping. And then came something strange. Her cheek Seemed pale, and back with crooked steps and weak Groping of arms she walked, and scarcely found Her old seat, that she fell not to the ground. Among the handmaids was a woman old And grey, who deemed, I think, that Pan had hold Upon her, or some spirit, and raised a keen Awakening shout; till through her lips was seen A white foam crawling, and her eyeballs back Twisted, and all her face dead pale for lack Of life: and while that old dame called, the cry